


Rip and Tear

by Pastah_Farian



Category: Doom (Video Games), Warhammer 40.000
Genre: The Doom Slayer in Warhammer 40K, what more could you ask for?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-10
Updated: 2018-05-10
Packaged: 2019-05-04 18:08:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14598735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pastah_Farian/pseuds/Pastah_Farian
Summary: He glanced at the glowing artifact he held in his hand and pondered. Had he betrayed the Doom Marine?The more he stared at it, the more the answer became clear to him. It wasn't a matter of betrayal.It was a matter of insurance.





	1. Chapter 1

+++

Dr. Samuel Hayden, chairman of the UAC, project director of the Argent Facility stalked the hallways of the complex that had once been home to thousands of employees and security members. Now, most of them were either dead or possessed, with the latter soon maimed, decapitated, dismembered, vaporized or otherwise destroyed in any number of creative and grisly ways by the one person Hell feared.

The man his employees had called the DOOM Marine was one of his greatest discoveries, and he had sent the warrior somewhere that was more his forte. Ever since Hayden had begun his work with the Argent Facility, he had received visions. Terrible visions. At first he wrote it off as symptoms akin to those that plagued the other Argent energy researchers, but as they progressed he had begun to understand them for what they were. Messages from the far future.

The future wasn't as bright and hopeful as most of humankind hoped it to be. It was dark, chilling and echoed with the laughter of dark gods.

He saw battles waged by future humans and legions of hellspawn. He saw men clad in enormous green armour clash against similarly armoured men. Among those visions, the brightest one that he could remember was that of a decrepit corpse seated on a massive golden throne. He saw the corpse glowing with a light so vast and powerful that Samuel thought it might blind him. Yet he also saw that the light was fading, and quickly.

And so, he begun his work.

He glanced at the glowing artifact he held in his hand and pondered. Had he betrayed the Doom Marine?

The more he stared at it, the more the answer became clear to him. It wasn't a matter of betrayal.

It was a matter of insurance.

+++

Across the stars and planets and skies, a battle was raging.

On a planet not so different from our own, across raging battlefields the corpses of man and machine littered its green surface. Armies of both loyalists and traitors clashed against each other, each faction vying for control of this world.

First Lieutenant Thallia Hall of the 212th Cadian Regiment cursed under her breath as she heard the volley of rockets screaming through the air. She turned to her platoon and yelled, "GET DOWN!" before following her own advice and dropping onto her knees.

Her soldiers ducked just in time as the artillery rained upon their position. Explosions boomed as the rockets struck, yet a few unlucky souls were hit by shrapnel, tossed down onto the floor of the trench, thrashing and screaming in agony as their squad-mates attempted to bind their wounds.

The barrage of rockets quickly stopped, but it was soon followed by something much worse.

"CHARGE MY BRETHREN! CHARGE!" roared a voice heavily distorted by electronic speakers, "TAKE THEIR HEADS FOR KHORNE!"

A loud war cry howled by an untold number of traitors echoed from the other side of the battlefield, quickly followed by the sound of men rushing from fighting positions. Thallia stood up, turned to her men and cried "Cadians! Let them have taste of our light!"

Her soldiers roared a battle cry of their own as they rushed to defensive positions, lasguns primed and at the ready.

As her subordinates prepared for the enemy charge, Thallia cast her gaze across the field, analyzing their situation. Her captain had died whilst leading a failed counter-charge, significantly reducing their company's combat effectiveness as multiple platoons attempted to coordinate without a clear leader. An artillery regiment was providing Basilisk support for this battle, but would be unable to help her men as they were currently shelling another sector. It would be a minimum of fifteen minutes before they were available. Reinforcements had been vectored to assist them, but it would take them ten minutes to arrive. They would all be dead in three.

It was in this moment where she made the sign of the Aquila and prayed to the Emperor, Undying Lord of Terra, for deliverance.

Little did she know that the He would answer her prayers.

+++

Huoron the Defiler laughed maniacally as he charged alongside his army of cultists and daemons. Their clash with the Loyalist forces had taken longer than he expected due to the Cadians' stubborn resistance, but now the advance of his warband would not be denied. He could not bring himself to mind, anyway. To fight was to worship Khorne, and all the battles waged pleased his god immensely. The ferocity of this one in particular had drawn the attention of many lesser daemons, a sign of his god's favour.

"CHARGE! DROWN THESE FIELDS WITH BLOOD!" He yelled. His forces roared their approval, putting more effort in their charge to break the Loyalist line.

It was this particular Loyalist force that Huoron most enjoyed, for they were commanded not by a Lord General or heroic Commissar, but an ordinary woman whose name had been unknown to him or his servants. For her to coordinate a defense against his warriors and succeed as long as she had spoke highly of her skill. She was worthy of dying by his axe and her skull offered to Khorne.

But it was not to be, for as they neared the trench line where the Imperials had dug in the skies suddenly grew dark. Many - both Loyalist and Traitor alike - paused in their battle, turning their gazes to the sky as a circle formed amongst the clouds. Suddenly the fabric of reality was torn as if someone had taken a blade and cut open the sky like a sheet of paper. From this rift in space a comet of light thundered down upon the battlefield, crashing to the earth between the two factions with a force that threw all who stood too close upon the ground.

As the dust settled and both sides scrambled to their feet, they beheld a figure wearing a green-plated suit of armour with a visored helmet kneeling amidst embers of rock and dust, clasping in its hand a double-barrelled gun that looked to be both primitive and powerful. As it stood, Huoron glimpsed the figure's eyes beneath the visor.

Never before had he seen eyes that nearly glowed with with the sheer magnitude of rage within them, not from any mortal or daemon he had ever matched gazes with. He knew that there were mighty servants of Khorne who were said to have such wrath within them that they could flay a man with but a single glance, yet whatever this being was, Huoron knew it was no servant of the Dark Gods.

As the moment passed the Khornate warlord realized that the being had never directed those hateful eyes at the Imperial lines. Nothing else received even the slightest glance.

Nothing but them.

+++

A/N: Taken from my Spacebattles account with the same name.

I hope you guys enjoy.


	2. Finishing the Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here, an irate Doom Slayer utterly massacres a bunch of Chaos worshipers in gory fashion.

+++

It happened in the blink of an eye.

Gifted with speed and strength beyond those of mortal men, first as an Astartes and then by the blessings of Khorne, Huoron could react to events most men could barely perceive. To meet an opponent that could match him was not something that happened often

The cultists who had the ill fortune of being closest to the interloper were the first to die. The green-armored being raised its weapon in a blur that only Huoron and his fellow traitor marines could follow, aiming the gun squarely between the eyes of the nearest cultist; a man holding an axe in one hand and an autopistol in the other, clad in the hides of those he had slain.

The interloper's finger twitched and the weapon barked, one barrel flashing a micro-instant before the cultist's head exploded. A slight adjustment brought the gun in line with the man directly behind him, a ragged and wiry individual clutching a lascarbine. The gun's other barrel fired and obliterated the cultist's skull. As their bodies fell, the interloper snapped open the breech of their gun, two red shells dropping out.

The moment ended, the two armies regained their senses, and chaos in the literal sense erupted around them.

+++

The earth shook as the he rushed forward, grabbing the fallen cultists' weapons and securing them to his armor more quickly than a mortal eye could follow. Armaments secured, he reloaded his shotgun and sighted another target, a heavily tattooed man armed with nothing more than his own two fists. The shotgun's pellets dug a bloody crater in his chest, his back erupting in a fountain of blood and pulverized heart.

The mass of demons and their lackeys appeared to regain their senses after seeing their comrades die. Cries of wrath and promises of death bellowed from their throats as they charged him, a demonic beast at their forefront, it horns bared and deadly. Seeing this, he rushed to take the charging beast head-on as the humans behind him opened up with their own weaponry.

He was the last of the Night Sentinels, the Unchained Predator, the Hell Walker.

The Doom Slayer.

And he was not happy.

If one could feel his anger, one would be roasted alive. What Doom Guy had in him was complete and utter rage. Rage for the fact that Hayden had betrayed him. Rage because he had been dropped with a simple double-barrelled shotgun as his only weapon. Rage that the hellspawn before him simply existed.

Thankfully, they appeared to be happily volunteering themselves as his stress relief.

An instant before they collided with the charging demon he reached out and grappled its horns. Man and beast stared at each other with absolute fury. Their rage gave them strength. Unfortunately for the beast, The Doom Slayer's wrath had carried him on a rampage through every corner of hell, an avatar of unceasing vengeance that nothing could stop, let alone kill. Against him, its frothing anger would avail the beast nothing.

The Doom Slayer brought his head back and slammed his helmet into the beast's head with such force that even the thick daemonic bone of the creature's skull could not prevent it from being stunned. He shifted his grip, focused his strength, and in a single motion twisted its neck a full 360 degrees. It gave a low, pathetic whimper as it passed, and he ripped the animal's horns off with a bloody crunch.

A single glance at the forces arrayed against him had given him all the information he needed. First and most numerous were the horde of ragtag humans charging the trenches behind him. That enraged him even more that the presence of the demons did. Vile as they were, demons were evil simply because it was in their nature. They had no choice in what they were, could be nothing else than monsters who ravaged civilizations and worlds. To see people fighting alongside them, humans that had freely chosen to align themselves with evil, stoked the fires of his wrath to greater heights than even the foulest beast of hell could manage.

Next were the demons themselves. They were different from those he was familiar with, that he had faced throughout eons in Hell and on Mars. Many of them bore a strange rune he did not recognize upon their bodies, yet the moment he saw it he knew it signified bloodshed and carnage, for their meaning radiated from these marks like heat from a furnace.

They were simultaneously chaotic and coherent, with their forms varying wildly yet all sharing a common theme of creatures which lived for combat and slaughter. Tallest among them were red-skinned fiends with forked tongues spilling from between their mouthful of sharp teeth, horns framing both their mouths and elongated skulls, their hands gripping what he instantly recognized as weapons imbued with dark power. Their bodies were thin and lanky, but the rippling of muscle beneath their crimson flesh spoke of great strength.

Last were the ones in armor, who seemed to blur the line between man and demon. They stood head and shoulders above even the tallest cultist, their thick and bulky armor festooned with skulls, etched in brass and adorned with spikes. No two were exactly alike in appearance, but there was more commonality in their appearance than either the cultists or demons possessed. Some had horns emerging from their helmets, others adorned with metal fins that held a brass skull above their heads. A few were worked to look like skulls themselves, with an ornament taking the shape of the demons' marks framing their heads.

They moved and fought like men, yet they moved more swiftly than himself and but a few of the demons present. In their hands were oversized weapons that most would find too bulky to wield, and to his senses they seemed to possess some of the same dark power as the demons.

Furthermore, none of them - be they armored warrior or spitting fiend - were showing any of the telltale signs of fear he had grown to recognize whenever a demon caught sight of him. The terror he had inflicted upon Hell's inhabitants was so great that even after his long imprisonment, they still recognized him on sight. The knowledge that all of Hell considered him an immortal killing machine, and that bloodthirsty demons would scream in panic and terror at the mere thought of the Doom Slayer unleashed once more was a source of grim satisfaction for him. To not be recognized by any of them...

He filed that detail away in his mind. It could investigated later. For now, he had demons to kill.

Armed with the demon-beast's horns, he began to rampage amongst the cultists' ranks, crushing the bones and rupturing the organs of any who came within reach.

He felt a small weight settle on his leg where a smaller beast had latched onto his armour, energetically attempting to bite through and reach the flesh beneath. A contemptuous strike with one of the horns crushed its skull and flung the creature into the melee surrounding him.

Finally, he got a clear view of his intended target; one of the tall red-skinned demons, its eyes glowing with malice as it hissed at him. The Doom Slayer tucked one of the horns under his left arm, drawing the machine pistol he had appropriated with his now-free hand. Time to test this demon's capabilities.

He raised the pistol and opened fire, bullets ripping into the cultists in front of him, sending them to the ground with bloody holes in their foreheads. He adjusted his aim as each bullet left the barrel, killing each cultist with a single round until nothing obstructed his line of fire to the demon in front of him. It bounded forward quickly, blade moving to deflect a few of the bullets, but allowing the rest to impact against its body to little effect. Holes appeared in the demon's skin and leaked boiling blood, but they seemed to hinder it little.

Throwing the empty gun at a nearby cultist hard enough to break the man's ribs, the Doom Slayer grabbed the horn from under his arm and counter-charged the demon. As soon as they were close enough it attempted to take his head off with its sword, but he slid under it, the blade passing above his face as he leaned backwards. One of the horns met the edge of the blade that hadn't been facing him, striking with enough force to unbalance the demon as its sword swung further than it had intended, and now with a demon-beast's horn lodged upon the blade.

The Doom Slayer now grabbed from his hip the axe he had taken from the first cultist he killed, lowering his stance as the demon whirled about, glaring at with seething hatred. It grabbed the horn and pulled, the blade slicing it into two pieces which fell to the ground as the demon grasped its hell-sword with both hands. Not even a moment passed before it swung again, this time at his midsection.

The Doom Slayer vaulted above the blade, swinging the axe as he spun in the air, embedding the steel blade into the flesh of the demon's right forearm.

The demon screamed, a noise of utter rage and pain tearing from its throat with such vehemence it ruptured the eardrums of what few cultists remained within ten paces of the fight. As the Doom Slayer landed on his feet he clubbed the demon across the face with the second horn, wrenching the axe free of its arm in the same movement. The demon's head snapped to the side, and he took the opportunity to bring the horn down upon its uninjured arm, snapping it at the wrist.

Another scream heralded the demon's sword falling to the ground, sinking into the dirt blade-first as its owner lost its grip upon the handle. A glance at the axe's blade told the Doom Slayer it would not last much longer, the bubbling and hissing indicated this demon's blood was either caustic or hot enough to ruin the edge. Good to know.

His arm blurred in an underarm swing that took the axe's head through the demon's fallen sword, hell-forged metal cutting through mortal steel with a screech, the angle of his swing cutting the blade in half diagonally and leaving a pointed wedge attached to the haft. One his swing carried past the demon's flailing arms and into its lower jaw.

Following the axe was the horn club, slamming into the rear of what remained of the axe's blade and forcing it even further into the wound. As the demon's arms rose in an attempt to grasp the piece of sharpened metal lodged in it mouth, the Doom Slayer raised the hand that had once held the axe and now held his shotgun, which he leveled at the demon's exposed neck. Twin barrels erupted in fire and shot, severing the fiend's head.

As the Doom Slayer snapped open his shotgun and ejected the two spent shells, instincts born from eons of unrelenting battle alerted him. Without bothering to reload, the closed the breech and spun to face his new attackers. Two men had come at him from behind, one holding a large machete and charging headfirst, lips frothing, and the other holding a chainsaw-sword in an overhead chopping position.

Before either could get within melee range of the Doom Slayer, he secured his shotgun to his lower back in exchanged for the strange carbine he had picked up earlier. Leveling the weapon at the machete-wielder, he pulled the trigger and was pleased to see a beam of coherent light blow his skull into chunks of steaming offal. A gun with perfect accuracy, and whose fire couldn't be evaded due to moving at the speed of light? He was going to enjoy using this.

The second man paid no heed to his fallen comrade, not even looking away until the Doom Slayer flung the second horn point-first into the cultist's chest. The man's eyes bugged and his grip on what the his killer mentally dubbed a "chainsword" slackened, the weapon falling from nerveless fingers and toward the ground before the Doom Slayer snatched it from the air.

Scanning his newfound weapon with a practiced eye, the Doom Slayer noted every last detail of the weapon, from the trigger that would activate its blade to the obvious care it had been shown by the man now expiring on the ground. Lighter than the chainsaw he had picked up on Mars, it was without a doubt still deadly. Hopefully it would be just as effective at exsanguinating demons as the chainsaw had been.

The entire fight, from engaging the demon to his examination of the chainsword, had taken less than five seconds.

With fire and noise filling the air around him, the Doom Slayer turned to the horde of demons and soldiers surrounding what he immediately identified as their leader. He pointed the chainsword at the armored giant in a clear challenge, one that needed no words to understand.

COME AT ME!

+++

The entrenched men and women of Lieutenant Thallia's platoon watched as the green Astartes - for what else could he be? - tear into the traitors' ranks with a ferocity that drew the eye of all around him. They cheered as they witnessed the Astartes tear off the horns of a daemonic beast before killing a Bloodletter so quickly none of them could tell how he had done so. They cared little for details such as his method of arrival, the strange armour he wore, or his lack of a boltgun. What they cared about was seeing one of Humanity's foremost defenders join their battle.

In their minds, they knew that they had already won.

Faith renewed and hope rekindled, she turned to her squad and yelled.

"Alright men! Support the Astartes! Kill as many traitors as you can! Let these curs rue the day they turned their backs on the Imperium! AVE IMPERATOR!"

Her men, grinning as they raised their weapons, roared along with her.

"AVE IMPERATOR!"

+++

Huoron cursed as the interloper drew nearer to him. Every demon, cultist or traitor marine that got near him either died quickly or by methods even a veteran of the Blood God's forces had rarely seen, and some that were new even to him. He saw the interloper dip past a Berzerker's strike before grabbing the marine's helmet and tearing it from the traitor's shouders with his head still inside, use it to smash an unfortunate cultist into the air where they landed on the horns of a dying daemonic beast, and then throw the helmet with the head still inside at another traitor marine with such force that the power-armoured superhuman was knocked flat!

The ferocity, the skill, the pure savagery of the interloper's actions would please Khorne greatly. It mattered not that the green-armoured being was massacring the Blood God's own followers, Khorne cared only that blood flowed in the heat of battle. If Huoron were to continue spreading Khorne's word throughout the galaxy he would have to survive against this creature, but as he watched it kill everything between them, instincts honed by millennia of unholy war began to tell him this was an opponent he could not defeat.

To make matters even worse the loyalists had resumed their fire with an intensity kindled by hope, hope that he had taken great pains to crush ever since he had arrived on this world. Furthermore, this grand display of bloodshed was gaining the attention of the rest of his warband, drawing their efforts away from the Imperial lines and giving the loyalists vital time to regroup and reorganize!

Gritting his teeth as the interloper reached him, the Chaos Space Marine raised his own chainsword to lock blades with the green-armoured being. Both chainblades whirred wielders held their ground. Finally, Huoron was able to match gazes with the interloper, the traitor marine meeting the golden irises of the man that stood against him.

Those eyes...

He could feel the rage in them like a palpable thing, the fury directed at him only a small fraction of the wrath this man held within his soul.

"You have done well!" He growled, looking down upon the man that was somehow matching the strength of a Chaos Marine blessed by Khorne despite lacking any sign of similar enhancements! "Swear loyalty to Khorne and you shall be-"

And then the Doom Slayer hit him.

A mighty crack echoed across the battlefield as Huoron tumbled through the air. Looking down he could see that the interloper had struck him in the chestplate with such force the ceramite had broken. Cracks radiated outward from a shattered crater in his armor. He struck the ground and bounced twice before rolling to a halt. Huoron desperately tried to get to his feet only to feel his helmet yanked from his head. The Chaos warlord raised his eyes to see the approaching fist of the man that he now knew could not be killed, teeth shattering as a boxy object was forced down his throat before the interloper picked him up and bodily hurled the traitor at a nearby group of his fellow Chaos Marines. Just before impact, Huoron the Defiler's head burst apart as the Doom Slayer's grenade detonated.

+++

Thallia's breath left her as she saw the Astartes finish off the Traitor's champion. A part of her felt grim satisfaction at the death of the bastard responsible for killing so many of her comrades. With him dead, their souls could finally go to the Emperor knowing they had been avenged.

By the time reinforcements arrived the traitors were in full retreat, and there, in the middle of the battlefield, stood the Astartes. Feet planted among a veritable mound of traitor marine corpses, the head of a Berzerker in his left hand, his chainsword to his right, armor scuffed and visor stained with blood, he looked every inch a victorious Angel of Death.

For the first time since the traitors had arrived on this world, she smiled and cheered along with her men.

"ASTARTES! ASTARTES! ASTARTES!"

+++

Taken from my SB account with the same name


End file.
